


i want to be careless too

by youcouldmakealife



Series: throw up your fists, throw out your wits [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nikita,” he says.</p><p>“...is your name?” Luke says. He knows it is. All the girls say it dreamily because it’s <i>exotic</i>.</p><p>“We room together, you call me,” Sidorchuk says.</p><p>“Nikita,” Luke says, nose wrinkling. He’ll manage, he guesses. “Okay.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want to be careless too

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Clo and my helpful tumblrites for looking this over! 
> 
> Title's a throwback to my own high school days, from Xiu Xiu's "Bunny Gamer". Xiu Xiu is basically now the soundtrack for this series so, you know. Pitch black and fucked up. Fun! (I was a precocious fourteen year old. I read Sartre. I was basically insufferable.)
> 
> Warnings for this specific part in the endnotes.

Luke’s sixteen when he makes to pro level. Okay, barely pro, paycheque more an allowance that’ll maybe cover a movie and popcorn a week, but people are going to be paying money to watch him play, he had to jump through about fifteen hurdles to get in, and biggest of all, he’s leaving home to do it. Red Deer isn’t all that exciting, even after Grande Prairie, but the Hitman had cut him early, and his mom got all quiet and worried about him living in a big city anyway. For months his parents did the long drive to Red Deer with him, hoop after hoop, the two of them taking turns so someone can look after his siblings. They took time off work and helped him find the stuff at the rest stops that he could actually eat on his diet, and finally, finally he makes it, cut after cut until there’s nothing left but a team to fall into, and they take the drive one last time, both of them, leave his siblings with his aunt, who ruffles his hair and wishes him luck.

They insist that they have to help him settle in, once they get into town, have to meet his billet family, his mom hovering while he unpacked, constantly asking if he’s forgotten anything. It was nice of them to take him, but he just wants them to leave already, he’s sixteen, he’s practically an adult, he doesn’t need them hovering.

They drive him to the arena before his first practice, and his dad helps him get his bag from the trunk. “Thanks,” he says. “See you at Christmas?”

“We’re coming in with you,” his mom says.

“What?” Luke says. “No, come _on_.”

Her face goes hard, like it does right before every time she yells at him, all ‘Lucas Timothy Morris, we are your parents and you will respect us!’, but his dad puts a hand on her arm, says “Liz, let him go, he needs to learn to be independent.”

“Thank you,” Luke says, shouldering his bag and getting as far as the doors before his dad yells, “We love you, champ!” from the car, just to fuck with him.

Asshole.

There are a bunch of parents inside, even though Luke’s probably one of the youngest. He doesn’t look it though, already 6’1” and totally parent free, so he’s a little smug when he finds himself a spot in the dressing room beside a guy who is trying to insist he does know how to tape his stick by himself, thanks _dad_. 

Luke smirks at his knees and not at the guy complaining only because he’s team, and it’s a bad idea to piss team off.

He recognizes a few of the guys from try-outs, but a lot of them he doesn’t know, guys who were clearly here before, greeting each other with backslaps and shoulder claps, buddy-buddy, catching up on the offseason while Luke tightens his laces and the kid beside him finally convinces his dad to go wait in the stands instead of standing around a bunch of half-naked teenagers like a freak.

When they all get out there, it finally sinks in that this is his team, his roster. He went through try-out after try-out for this, did every bullshit drill and fitness test you could name, had to sit in a car with his parents and his stuff for six hours straight while his mom tried not to cry, had to say goodbye to Ben, who cried all over him, and Holly and Katie, who pretended they were happy to get rid of him, the bullshitters. He did all that, and he’s far away from home, (though not _that_ far, he’s pretty sure he heard a dude talking with a Russian accent), but he’s a Red Deer Rebel, and this is his team, and it’s all totally worth it. 

After skate his billet family picks him up, because his parents have started the drive back to Grande Prairie. He hadn’t expected them to be gone, but it’s fine--he’ll see them at Christmas and it’s not like he’s some momma’s boy. Still, when he gets back he spends an hour responding to an email Holly sent, asking if there were any cute guys on his team. Answer being how should he know (there were a couple, not that he was looking too hard), and that they wouldn’t date a fourteen year old girl anyway (that part’s probably true at least. He hopes.). 

He answers a bunch of questions about practice at dinner, doesn’t have to fake enthusiasm, because it genuinely is exciting, but after dinner he heads up to his temporary room, completely bagged. School starts in a week, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to juggle it, school and hockey, if just practice makes him this tired.

It’s not too bad when he gets into it, a bunch of practice while the coaches get their undivided attention, and Luke gets to know a few of his teammates, Nowell, the kid who really can’t tape his stick without his daddy’s help, Waters, who has an accent so thick no one can understand him half the time, who knew Saskatchewan was a whole other planet? A few others, but most of the guys are older and kind of sneer at the sixteen year olds, like they’re better just because they’ve played hockey a year or two longer, just because some of them aren’t in high school anymore. 

When school starts, Luke’s in a bunch of classes with Nowell, who sticks to him like a burr that Luke’s going to have to shake off, a couple with Waters. Weirdly, a few with Sidorchuk, who’s eighteen but in eleventh grade classes for everything except math. It makes sense, the guy’s only been in Canada for a couple years, and even though Luke understands his accent better than Waters’ weirdo Saskatchewan-ese, his English sucks. He’s already been drafted, third round to the Penguins, but Luke guesses wanting someone to mature before playing is extra important when they haven’t graduated high school yet. 

Luke’s beside him in English, and he tries to help him out as much as he can, because every time he does Sidorchuk smiles at him, small but there, and it makes sense to get in with the older guys, and Sidorchuk has this weird popularity, is foreign enough to interest everyone, especially the girls, who cluster around him, all ‘are you _Russian_? That’s amazing. Oh, _Belarus_? I _love_ Belarus’, as if they could even point to it on a map. Luke can’t either, but at least he doesn’t pretend that he knows the difference.

Luke has to deal with weeks of utter boredom and a few hockey practices, just like home except for the fact he lives with strangers and Ben isn’t following him around everywhere he goes, but then the season’s gearing up to start and it all suddenly feels worth it, fast. They start easy, a game in Edmonton they’ll just turn around and head home after, but it’s an actual trip. Coach Houston tells them they have five minutes to think up their roommate picks for the entire season, and it’s Luke’s worst nightmare all at once, all the older guys grabbing each other’s arms like they’re preparing to get married, and Nowell looking around for Luke. Luke feels like ducking, but instead, when he sees Sidorchuk, he walks over, totally willing to face rejection if that means he doesn’t have to deal with Nowell on trips. He probably still has a blankie.

Sidorchuk raises an eyebrow when Luke comes over. “Hey,” Luke says. “You want to room with me?” and waits, trying not to fidget while Sidorchuk stays silent and he can practically feel Nowell breathing down his neck.

Finally, Sidorchuk shrugs and says, “Okay,” and Luke tries not to look too visibly relieved and probably fails at it because Sidorchuk laughs at him a little meanly.

The sudden need for room arrangements is clear when Houston tells them that they’re stuck sitting on the bus like that too, so Luke settles in beside Sidorchuk, who claims window, tries to make himself comfortable when they’ve put 400 pounds into an enclosed space. He keeps knocking elbows with Sidorchuk whenever he moves, mumbles apologies, elbows him again, keeps apologizing. Maybe he should have roomed with Nowell, at least Nowell doesn’t take up so much space.

At the end of a two hour ride, Sidorchuk grabs his elbow.

“Nikita,” he says.

“...is your name?” Luke says. He knows it is. All the girls say it dreamily because it’s _exotic_.

“We room together, you call me,” Sidorchuk says.

“Nikita,” Luke says, nose wrinkling. He’ll manage, he guesses. “Okay.”

“Good,” Nikita says, and then lets go of Luke’s elbow, finally. Luke keeps finding himself rubbing it while they get dressed, a little sore, like he got under Luke’s skin.

*

They lose their first game by a pretty embarrassing margin, any chemistry they managed during practice completely evaporating once they all realised there were people watching them, thousands of them, all cheering against them. Houston is livid on the way back, yelled at them in the dressing room, and when they trudged onto the bus, and now is sitting up front with his arms crossed, pretending they all don’t exist. The bus was loud on the way to the game, but it’s quiet, the night dark around them, most of the lights off, except for a few guys reading. No one’s talking much, in case Houston decides to yell at them for that. Luke just goes for his IPod, Nikita staring out the window, hands clenched, beside him, and then after a couple minutes, nudges Nikita’s shoulder and offers him an earbud. He shakes his head, but he loosens up, a little, and Luke shuts his eyes, falls asleep to Nickelback.

A week later they have a quick jump to Calgary and then a much longer trip to Prince Albert, and he’d be nervous about it, about playing after that fuck-up, but his English teacher springs an essay on him and he’s too busy scrambling to catch up on reading Brave New World to worry about anything. He hasn’t managed by Saturday morning, when they’re piling onto the bus, but Nikita’s got it out too, a little bit further than Luke, but definitely not much, and after a more narrow loss to Calgary, they both manage to finish it on the bus to Prince Albert, stumbling out of the bus to catch a couple hours of sleep in actual beds so that they can maybe win a game. 

Nikita faceplants on the far bed, and Luke’s too tired to argue for it, just sets an alarm, toes off his shoes, and then sleeps until the alarm’s screaming at them and they have to get up to put some carbs in themselves. 

They do win that night, and actually get to sleep in beds. Luke honestly has no idea whether Houston would have bundled them into the bus if they hadn’t. Dude scares him a little. They have to roll out at six in the morning, and once game adrenaline disappears, Luke can barely keep his eyes open, so the second he gets to the room he’s passing out, waking briefly when Nikita comes in awhile later, changing in the dark, the sound of his belt buckle loud in the silent room, then he’s drifting right back to sleep.

Nikita’s alarm goes off at five-thirty, and Luke groans, puts his head under his pillow while Nikita mutters something in Russian (okay, not Russian, whatever language they speak in Belarus. Is that Russian? He doesn’t know, it sounds Russian), and slaps at his phone until it stops making noise, stumbles out of bed. Luke removes the pillow over his face, watches him move through the room in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else, the bare line of his back lit up when he turns on the bathroom light and disappearing when he shuts the door.

Luke groans and puts his pillow back over his face, hating himself a little, and when the shower starts he gets a hand down his own boxers, jerks himself fast and rough, on a deadline, and doesn’t think of Nikita’s ass in his briefs. 

Whatever.

*

After the first few embarrassing losses, they actually manage a decent streak, some close wins, close losses, a couple blowouts either way. They're in Regina for one of them, a 6-1 win they kicked ass and took names in. Waters has some family from there, a cousin in high school, and after the game he mentions that there's a house party not too far away. It's a Saturday night and all they've got tomorrow is the trip home, one that doesn't even roll out until ten, so most of the guys are into the idea, getting pumped about it. There's no way Houston doesn't hear them talk about it, but he's in a really good mood after the win, and kind of broadly hints that curfew isn't going to be as big a deal as it usually is. It's a long weekend anyway, they'll have the trip to sleep off their hangovers and then Monday to get their homework done.

They go back to the hotel, everyone running back and forth, trying to find something to wear, suddenly acting like Luke’s sisters, swapping clothes and asking if they look good. The guys who brought hair gel are suddenly the team heroes, Nowell's room crowded with guys in front of the mirror, fixing their hair.

Luke changes into a t-shirt, sweats, because he doesn't have anything else. Nikita's on his bed, flipping through channels. “You coming?” Luke asks.

Nikita shrugs.

“Dude, you have to come,” Luke says. “Girls love you, you'll totally get us all play.”

Luke may not like girls in the way it seems like he's supposed to, but they always look nice and taste good, like whatever sticky lipgloss they're wearing, and he'd rather make out with a girl than jerk it alone in his hotel room thinking about his roommate's ass. That's pretty pathetic.

Nikita rolls his eyes. “And I carry you back?” he asks.

“C’mon,” Luke says. “I bet I could keep up with you.”

Nikita laughs in his face, but he gets up, finally, riffles through his bag and ending up with stuff way better than Luke has on, a polo shirt and dark wash jeans that make his ass look incredible, not that Luke’s looking. He’s just noting. He should get himself a pair of those.

Everyone’s congregated outside the hotel like the least subtle curfew breakers ever, all dependent because Waters and Gardiner are the only guys that know Regina at all. They pool their cash, get enough cabs to take them to a sprawling house with basically nothing surrounding it, music so loud they can hear the bass before they even get out of the cab. Luke sticks close to Waters, who gets greeted by his cousin in slightly more understandable Saskatchewan-ese, and then leads them to the drinks, jackpot.

Luke grabs a beer for himself, then a second for Nikita, weaves his way through a pretty impressive crowd until he finds Nikita near the front doors.

“Molson,” Nikita says, lip curling.

“What,” Luke says. “Too good for our beer?”

“Is there vodka?” Nikita asks. He has to press close, yell practically into Luke’s ear.

“Chicks drink vodka, dude,” Luke says.

“Not shots,” Nikita argues, heading back where Luke came from, and Luke follows, because Nikita’s a pretty quiet guy, and if he wants to do shots, then Luke really wants to be there to witness the hilarity. He wonders if Nikita is a touchy drunk.

Following turns out to be a bad idea, because when Nikita does locate vodka and shot glasses after some effort, he turns on Luke, makes him do a shot with him, and then when Luke’s still coughing, feeling like he just drank rubbing alcohol, who _does_ this shit?, Nikita’s already forcing another one on him. He leaves Luke alone after the third, lets him go back to his Molson, but that’s enough to get Luke’s head buzzing. He doesn’t actually drink a lot, he doesn’t have many chances to, and he’s always got practice in the mornings, it seems like. When he does drink, it’s beer, and he knows he can handle his beer, he’s a big guy, but the shots are going straight to his head. 

After finishing his beer he nurses another, watches a couple of the guys strike out pretty spectacularly, watches Nikita convince a girl with huge tits and a really low cut top to do shots with him. She’s totally into him, leaning into his space so he can get a better look down her shirt, and Luke dimly wonders if she’d come back with them, if Luke would have to try to sleep through Nikita fucking her, through her sucking his cock, or maybe he'd have to bunk with Nowell, jesus. He blinks a few more times, longer each time, until Nikita's shaking his shoulder, smirking. The girl's nowhere to be seen, and Luke doesn't know if he's relieved or not.

“You drunk,” Nikita says, and Luke doesn't know if that's a question or an observation, but he's pretty sure he is. Some drinker he is.

“No way,” he says, “just tired,” because seriously, Nikita's had at least twice as much as he has and the only sign is the fact that his cheeks are a little flushed.

“Hotel?” Nikita asks.

“What about the chick?” Luke asks. “You totally had her in the bag.”

Nikita rolls his eyes. “Hotel,” he repeats, and gives Luke a hand up when Luke doesn't immediately stand.

They're probably the first two leaving, a bunch of the guys spread through the place, and Luke doesn't want to meet anyone's eyes, doesn't want them to realise he's such a lightweight that Nikita's practically being his chaperone, calling a cab and waiting on the porch with him among the smokers and the couple attached at the lips.

Luke drowses a little on the way to the hotel, and Nikita ends up paying the cabbie despite Luke's protests, hauls him up. It's barely past one, and Luke shucks his clothes with his face red, convinced Nikita to come out with him in the first place, then couldn't even handle his own shit.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to the wall.

“Not everyone handle vodka,” Nikita says placidly, and when Luke looks over, he's down to his boxer briefs on his bed, remote in hand. “Movie?” he suggests. “Schwarzenegger.”

Sure enough, Terminator's on, and Luke goes to sit on the edge of Nikita's bed because his is too far for a good view, the TV tiny. He sits up straight at first, so aware of Nikita beside him, but Nikita doesn't move, and eventually he slumps a little, genuine exhaustion catching up with him along with the booze.

Nikita gets up to turn the main lights out during a commercial break, then there's just the TV illuminating the room, Nikita's face washed out in blue. He should look terrible, and he kind of does, but Luke still wants to suck him off. He doesn't know what that says about him.

Luke realises he must be staring when Nikita turns to face him, brow furrowed.

“Sorry for cockblocking you,” Luke blurts.

Nikita looks confused. Guess that hasn't made it into his English vocabulary.

“That girl,” Luke says. “She would have fucked you.”

Nikita shrugs, like that doesn't matter. It probably _doesn't_ matter to him, he's got girls all over him all the time. Luke has no idea what he gets up to when he's not at school or playing hockey, maybe he's got a girlfriend. It's not like he tells anyone anything.

Nikita goes back to the movie once the break’s over, and Luke tries not to look at him completely obviously, probably fails. He’s in crowded locker rooms with naked guys all the time, but it’s different, sharing a bed with a guy in briefs and nothing else, only a foot between them. Nikita's fit, has the kind of muscle definition that Luke tries to get but can't, Luke's body broad, all utility, while Nikita's got the kind of six pack that girls giggle over. Actual pecs, and nipples dark brown, big, for a guy. Luke's spent a lot of time thinking about his ass, but like this he can't keep his eyes off his cock, the shape of it in his briefs, just enough for Luke to store in his spank bank for later. He's either a shower or he's big, and Luke's never even kissed a guy, but he wants it in his mouth so badly he's practically salivating.

He's not subtle, shit, he's not subtle at all, so when he takes his eyes off Nikita's cock, which is plumping up a little, he accidentally meets Nikita's eyes. Nikita looks at him, and then pointedly down at where Luke's half hard in his boxers, fuck.

“I should go to sleep,” Luke stutters out, and sits up properly.

“You 'cockblock' me,” Nikita says slowly, like he's trying the term out, deciding whether or not he likes it.

“I said I was sorry,” Luke says defensively.

“Make it up to me?” Nikita says, still slow, the way he always is when he wants to make sure he's saying something perfectly.

Luke swallows, looks down at where Nikita's up to half mast, stretching the fabric of his briefs.

He doesn't know if this is some huge language barrier. Maybe he's asking for something else, like for Luke to do his English homework, or to find him some girl in Red Deer, or to stay the fuck away from him, since he's clearly a faggot.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, voice a little husky, like he's been downing shots all night.

Nikita looks at Luke's mouth, then down at his own cock, and when Luke's breath stops, suddenly unsure, caught, he says, “Suck my cock.”

That sentence definitely isn't from a language barrier. Luke's pretty sure it can only mean one thing.

“Seriously?” Luke asks, in case this is some trick or something, some way to make sure he's not gay, like if he says yes they'll all bully him off the team. Nikita doesn't seem like the type, never joins in the stupid ribbing that happens in the locker room, the cries of 'no homo!', but Luke isn't going to risk his career just because he wants to suck cock. Even that pales in comparison to hockey.

Nikita doesn't say anything, just raises his hips, tugging his briefs down over his cock, and—okay, he's not just a shower, that's good to know. He's still only half hard, but he's clearly packing, plump and thick, curving up a little. Luke's hands are practically itching, and Nikita shows no sign he's pulling an elaborate fakeout, just looks like a guy who's waiting half impatiently for a blowjob from a sure thing (if Luke had cleavage he would have been flashing it all night). When Nikita sighs, reaching to pull his briefs back up, Luke catches his wrist before he can stop himself, letting go when Nikita pulls his hand back, and only going far enough to get his fist around the base of Nikita's cock, skin thin and hot under his palm.

“Tell me if I screw up,” Luke says, dimly aware his voice was shaking but not caring, not enough at least, the vodka still burning him up, his cock throbbing in pace with his heartbeat, already painfully hard just from the thought of getting his mouth around Nikita's cock.

He shifts down the bed, letting go of Nikita's cock just long enough to get onto his elbows, making himself as comfortable as he possibly can when his cock is pressed into the mattress and he's got a dick right in his face. He gets his hand back around him, a little hesitant as he's pulling his foreskin back, something he's never had to deal with, before he tentatively touches his tongue to the head of Nikita's cock.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, he's tasted his own come enough, curious about it, but all he tastes is skin, salt sweat, soap. He'd tried not to watch Nikita in the showers that night, hair plastered to his face and body sleek when it's wet, and now he's got his mouth around him, can taste the soap from that shower, when Nikita had been five feet away from him, his hand on his cock.

“Luke,” Nikita says, strained, and Luke doesn't know if that's encouragement to actual do something or scolding because he isn't, but he takes the hint regardless, exploratory, finding the spots that tip him over the edge usually, exploiting them. The spot under the head of his cock doesn't seem to do much for Nikita, but when Luke tongues over his slit his hand comes down, curled around Luke's head because Luke doesn't have enough hair to pull. When Luke finally takes him deeper, he keeps his hand there, not pushing, exactly, just a weight on the back of Luke's head, holding him on his cock, keeping him there. Luke finds it so hot he can barely stand it, Nikita's hand heavy on the back of his head, the weight of his cock against Luke's tongue, the taste of him, the smell. Luke feels like he’s drowning in him, so it’s good that Nikita only lasts a few minutes, hips nudging up towards the end, Luke gagging a little around him, unable to pull back because of the pressure on his head. He has tears in his eyes, his cock almost chafed from trying to hump the mattress under him, when Nikita comes without warning, bitter, and holds Luke’s head down until he's swallowed it, letting go when even the flat edge of Luke's tongue makes him jerk, oversensitized. Luke sits up, slow, wipes the back of his mouth, the bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Nikita's red faced, flushed. Objectively he looks a little ridiculous, panting, open-mouthed, but it's all Luke can do not to rub up against his thigh, come on his ridiculous stomach.

Nikita must take pity on him, on what Luke is sure must be a pretty pathetically horny face, because he tugs Luke up, gets a hand into his boxers, a hand around his cock. It's too dry, too rough, almost more painful than it is good, but it's a hand around his cock and Luke's sixteen, so it doesn't take long before he comes, teeth in Nikita's shoulder so he doesn't make noise.

When he pulls back belatedly, having caught his breath with his face pressed against Nikita's skin he sees the perfect imprint of his teeth. “Sorry,” he says, sort of sheepish.

Nikita waves a hand dismissively, then, seemingly realising that he's still got Luke's come on his hand, wipes it off on the sheets, wrinkling his nose.

“Gross,” Luke says.

Nikita snorts, pulls his briefs back up. Luke's going to have to change his boxers. Shit, Luke hopes he actually has a change of boxers.

“So that was,” Luke starts, and Nikita looks at him expectantly, but he honestly has no idea how to end that sentence. It'd be bad enough with an English speaker, but with Nikita, he can't even be sure whatever he says will be understood. Not that he knows what to say. Like, what, 'that was cool, I'm totally up to suck you off whenever you want.'? Fuck.

“We should get some sleep,” Luke says finally, sort of lamely, and Nikita nods but then still keeps looking at him. Luke’s confused until he realises he’s just sitting there on Nikita’s bed like an idiot, so he scrambles off it, gets into his own bed, tugging off his boxers and wiping himself off with them under the covers, suddenly kind of shy about it, which is stupid because he had Nikita’s cock in his mouth like, five minutes ago, but now it’s just weird.

He drops his boxers on the far side of the bed, closes his eyes when the room goes dark. The TV had been on the whole time, muted, but still, that strikes Luke as so ridiculous, that for all he knows Nikita had been watching TV while Luke was sucking him off. He has to suppress a slightly hysterical giggle.

“Goodnight,” Nikita says from across the room, the first words he’s said since ‘suck my cock’, unless you count Luke’s name. That’s ridiculous too, but it doesn’t really make Luke want to laugh.

“Night,” he says, voice gone hoarse, the taste of Nikita lingering in his mouth, and he wouldn’t have expected it, but he falls asleep in no time at all.

*

Okay, so once Luke was as naive as Ben is now.

He’s not proud of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This part contains underage sex (but not legally? Legal age of consent is sixteen in Canada, and I believe was actually fourteen at the time this was set, so it'd all be on the up and up even if there wasn't only a two year age difference), homophobic language, and impaired consent due to alcohol consumption. 
> 
> Still have a [tumblr](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/)! Still won't let you guys forget it!


End file.
